The Key To Home
by Zucht
Summary: Lois always goes to the Kent Farm when she has a broken heart.  Set in the near future. Lois Clark


A/N: _Set in the not too distant future, this one shot is just a possible interaction between Lois and Clark._

**The Key To Home**

**WARM**

-no-

**SAFE**

-no-

**HOME** means both to her

--

Lois peaked out from under the warm quilt, that engulfed and comforted her body, to look at the heavy frost on the panes of the window in Clark's bedroom. Winter was still a month away but that hadn't stopped the weather from giving a preview of the coming season. She had long ago stopped asking herself why she continued to come here. This was the first place she thought of when she needed comfort. This was the one place she had ever felt wanted. This was her home; even if it wasn't her's.

She pulled the quilt over her head as she remembered why she was here this time – Mark. The ass had broken up with her, because she had to interview Superman about the missile he had intercepted, the afternoon they were supposed to leave on a long romantic weekend. It wasn't her fault that terrorists had chosen that day to target the Mint in Philadelphia, or that she knew Superman; it was her responsibility to get the story. The jerk knew who she was when they started dating, and she was damned good at her job. His meltdown was uncalled for, so was telling her not to do the interview.

After she had kicked him out, ruining her new Bolo Viorna pumps, she had ripped her new clothes off in disgust. She had stared at her self in the mirror and evaluated her 29 year old body. Not a sag, a couple of scars but nothing major, her stomach was flatter than ever, a couple of small laugh lines – that she blamed on Clark, and her hair – slightly darker with a hint of curl, but no shorter, after her last visit to Antonio's. All in all, what man could resist. But, in the back of her mind, where she couldn't lie to herself, she knew her driven and abrasive personality could be difficult for most men. Well, all men… except for two - both named Kent.

Remembering those early days, lightened her heart, when she would wake up and stare out the window watching the father and son work, often shirtless. She felt a twinge of guilt for the crush she had had on Jonathan, but that had quickly gone away as he became the father-figure she had missed while sharing her own father with the army; he was able to handle 15,000, just not 15,000 and 2. Of course, Clark was the little brother she could torture - mercilessly.

Working with Clark the last few years had changed her feelings toward him. He still brooded too much, but now he was a capable, competent, accomplished reporter with handsome features and a muscular body that she knew he didn't display – much to the chagrin of many of the ladies in the office. If anything, he seemed even more withdrawn than he had been in Smallville.

The last couple of years she and Chloe, well mostly her, had set him up on a couple of dozen dates. The women had always been impressed by him; he was witty, charming, knowledgeable and always seemed to have a great time. But, he never called them for a second date, claiming that they weren't right for him. She couldn't understand it, Clark was a great guy; not that she would ever admit it!

Originally, she had hated Lana Lang for destroying him. Discussions with Chloe had helped change her mind – Clark was probably more responsible for his obsession with Lana than she ever was. Still, he hadn't moved on. He should move on. He needed to move on!

She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she noticed was the aroma of her favorite Mocha blend coffee… Martha was in DC, Chloe was on assignment in Vancouver, that left Clark. But he was supposed to be in Metropolis covering the story of the corrupt police detective they had uncovered.

Quietly, she got out of bed, pulled on one of Clark's old flannel shirts she used instead of a robe, and stepped into her bunny slippers. Opening her purse, she retrieved her brass knuckles and pepper spray. As an afterthought, she put her .38 into her waistband, keeping it covered with the plaid shirt.

Silently, she opened the door and crept down stairs, remembering to skip the steps that creaked. She quickly glanced into the kitchen and felt immediate relief, on the table sat a plate of Martha Kent's famous brownies. Looking around, she saw Clark's brief case by the door and his coat over the far chair.

The temptation was too much; she downed one brownie and was finishing the second when she poured herself a cup of coffee. Since Clark hadn't joined her she knew he was in the loft, his 'Fortress Of Solitude', as his father had called it. Well, he wasn't going to come here and brood, that was why she was here, let him brood on his own time!

She threw on his coat, snagged a third brownie, toped off her coffee and then she started for the barn. The old barn door was difficult to open but she managed with a minimum of swear words.

When she reached the top step of the loft, she could see Clark staring out the window seemingly unaffected by the frosty breeze that ruffled his hair and pushed on his shirt, outlining the muscles underneath.

'NO!' she told herself, 'Clark is off limits. If I screw up our relationship like I have all my other ones I will lose the Kent Farm… I will lose my home!'

"Smallville, what are you doing here?"

Not bothering to turn, he responded, "Does that make you the Princess of Plaid?"

"Shut up, Farm Boy!"

When he turned she could see that the smile that usually played at the corner of his lips was missing.

"What's wrong, Smallville? Did our story blow up?"

"No it's not the story; Detective Kennedy was arrested this morning by agents from the FBI. I've already given Perry our story."

"Then what's wrong?" She really felt like asking, 'why are you here?'

Looking down he waited a minute before replying. "I've decided to make some changes…"

"Good! You want me to go shopping with you?"

"No! Not that. I mean personal changes."

"Even better; it's about time you got over Lana."

"Lois!" He yelled before taking a breath and adding, "I've been over her for years. What I want…"

Getting in his face, she accused, "You're in love, aren't you!?"

"Yes, but why I'm here…"

"Who is it? Do I know her?" All Lois could think to do was question him, hopefully masking her disappointment - from herself. "It's Chloe isn't it? I knew it!"

"Lois!" He yelled loud enough to break into her sudden introspection. "Sit down; I need to tell you something."

Shocked for a second, the ringing in her ears was a reminder that she needed to rip into him for yelling at her. She decided to sit and listen to what he wanted to say, then she would tear him a new one.

"Lois, you can't come here with a broken heart any more…"

"I don't…"

"Let me finish." He waited until she nodded her head in agreement.

"The last couple of years you have come here 25 times after the men you've dated have dumped you. That is stopping today."

Anger flashed throughout her body, "And just who do you think you are, that you can tell me who I can and can't see!?"

"I'm your best friend and I'm not going to allow you to ruin your life because you are afraid of loving someone. The truth is, you are in love, and you're just too scared to admit it."

"Am not!"

"Admit it!"

"I'm not in love…"

"Liar."

"Then who is it?"

"We both know who it is; you just need to admit it."

Crossing her arms in an imitation of him, she glowered.

With a sigh, he picked a small wrapped box up off of his old desk and sat it on the coffee table before Lois. "This was created by my father; it is the key to my past. It is also the key to your future. I'll be in the kitchen."

--

She waited, letting her temper cool. After a few minutes she picked up the package and looked at the brown wrapping paper. "He could have at least wrapped it nicely."

Slowly, she unwrapped it and held the small cardboard box in her hand. It didn't look like much, so why was she so uneasy. "Quit being stupid Lane! It's just a box."

Opening the box, she removed the red cloth and unfolded it, exposing the object it shielded from view. "Jonathan made a disk?"

Examining it closer, she noticed it was an eight-sided disk. She yelled, "What does a paper weight have to do with my future?"

Turning the disk over, the sun caught and illuminated etchings. Dropping the disk, she ran down the stairs and toward the kitchen.

The last etching to lose it's illumination, was of the house of El.

--

**The End**


End file.
